
Class _^S_ 
Book J2)i 



iiZs 



GoppghtN". 



iZlilG 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



WORDS OF THE WOOD 



OTHER BOOKS BY DR. BELL 

THE WORTH OF WORDS 

Hinds & Noble^ 1904 

SONGS OF THE SHA WAN GUNKS 

{Out of Print) 

AALA DEENE AND OTHER POEMS 

{Out of Print) 



WORDS 
OF THE WOOD 

RALCY HUSTED BELL 




Boston 

Small, Maynard G? Company 

1906 



Copyright, igos, by 

Ralcy Husted Bell 



\ 



^.•^VV ^ 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

DEC 16 1905 

, Copyright Entry 
CLASS Cl XXc. No 

/$3 Li 

COPY B. 



Published^ December^ igo^ 



Press of 

George H. Ellis Company 

Boston. U.S.J. 



DEDICATION 

TO 

FREDERIC HENRY GERRISH, A.M., M.D., LL.D., 
PORTLAND, MAINE. 

My dear Doctor: 

An appropriate dedication is a difficult thing to write. It should be done 
under the most favorable conditions. Even then the result is not always 
felicitous. Now that the time has come for me to avail myself of this 
privilege, I am glad that you are travelling abroad, because your 
absence allows me greater freedom, as it were, than your characteristic re- 
serve would permit if you were here. 

I am thankful for this opportunity to do homage to your broad culture 
in my own way, and to signify my appreciation of the special attainments 
of your eminent scholarship. Certainly, you are not unaware of my ad- 
miration for you as a successful Teacher, a great Surgeon, a learned Anato- 
mist. I wish you to know, as well, of my high regard for your splendid 
character as a man, and especially of my profound esteem for you as 
a loyal friend. 

A dedication ought to mean something; and this one does. It is sym- 
bolic of a long and beautiful friendship which began during my college 
days in oxir relations as Professor and Student, — a friendship which time 
has strengthened, which unselfishness has sweetened, and which only death 
can end. 

Compared with what I might say, very justly, I feel that I am conserva- 
tive in my expression of your worth. On the other hand, I am conscious 
of saying much more than your modesty will approve. I rely on my sin- 
cerity to shield me from your frown. Good intention does much to smooth 
the way in this world, even as it is alleged to pave regions nethermost in 
the next. 

Trusting that it may never be the lot of either of us to test the accuracy 
of the allegation, I remain 

Your sometime student and 
friend always, 

R. H. BELL. 

New York, Sept. 5, igo5. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Words of the Wood I 

In a Deserted Garden 2 

In the Wildwood of the World .... 3 

The Land of Fern 4 

Dawn 5 

Dreamland Voices 6 

Wild Flowers 7 

A June Song 8 

Benevolentia 9 

The Maligned World 15 

May Twenty-seventh 17 

Stay thy Hand 19 

America 20 

A Sketch 25 

Edmund Clarence Stedman 26 

Lines 27 

To a Friend 27 

Herbert Spencer 28 

The Light-house 29 

John James Ingalls 31 

The Pale Horse 31 

To a Dead Man 33 

Marooned 34 

Robert G. Ingersoll 35 

Walt Whitman 36 



IX 



Page 

Beauty's Slave 38 

Birthday Blossoms 39 

A Song of the Sun and Dew 40 

My Helen's Eyes 41 

Song of a Starling 42 

Kisses 44 

Late Summer 45 

A Handful of Clover 45 

Even So 46 

A Love-queen 4^7 

One Clinging Hour 48 

Kathleen 49 

Requital 49 

A Rose Song 50 

Night in the Park 51 

Violets 52 

A Smile of Autumn 52 

Love's Star 53 

A Man's Marvel 54 

Sixteen 55 

Fate 56 

A Ballad of Change 57 

Doubt 61 

God 62 

Life 62 

Alone 62 

The Spirit of Democracy 63 

The Middle Ages 64 

War 65 



X 



Page 

A Cry of the Soul 66 

The Absolute 69 

False Fame 69 

On Sliding Ground 70 

My Soul Awakes y\ 

The West Wind 72 

The Soul's Harkback 72 

A Vision of Life j^ 

The Negro J75 

United 76 

Dreams jj 

Yesterday y% 

Dead Sea-fruit 78 

De Po' LiT Chil'un 81 

Leavin' Georgy 82 

Goin' Back to Georgy 84 

The Cross 85 

When Day Droops 86 

The Truly Free 86 

Love's Largess 87 



XI 



WORDS OF THE WOOD 

I know a wild-born instinct of the wood 

Where tangled vine and woven branches are, 

Where fern and flower beneath the feet are good, 
And sheltering leaves sift light of moon and star. 

I know the longing love for druid trees 

Where shadows droop when all the boughs are still. 
And all the gloomy ways where Fancy sees 

Her bathing Fauns in every pool and rill. 

Within my soul the woodland voices rise, 
Like echoes down the years from long ago, 

Until my heart is full of forest cries 

Of every note from mirth to savage woe. 

My wistful gaze is set on some far glade. 
Deserted long by time and vanished tree, 

Where I may dream at noontide in the shade. 
And hear no sound save wing of droning bee. 

My love undaunted is as forest life, 

And longs to wed as once the Satyrs did: 

Woo fleeing Nymphs on fleeter foot 'mid strife. 
And pause to pluck fierce pleasure, leafy hid. 

Ere man conspired with time to mar the world, 
The mystic woods were fain to nurture me; 

In that dim age my joyous soul is furled, 
And slumbers yet wherever grows a tree. 

1 



IN A DESERTED GARDEN 

In this hard age of steel and stress, 
'Tis good to sit in some old garden spot 
Beside a quiet lane, 
Where modest plants in breeze caress 
Each other's leaves when days are long and hot, 
And blossoms dream of rain. 



'Twere well to watch the little things. 
That Hve their Hves far from the world apart 
And know not of its ways. 
'Tis good to feel the thought that springs 
From out the leaning hly's stainless heart 
On peaceful summer days. 

The lichened stones have tales to tell; 
The garden wall knows many legends, too, 
Of hearts now silent dust. 
The grass-grown path that finds the well 
Is still writ o'er with stories strangely true 
Of love and faith and trust. 

The moss-rose bush neglected seems, 
As though it held some bursting heart too full 
Of memory to speak. 
The comely rambler droops and dreams 
Where crumbling arbor-cords no longer pull 
Up tendrils that are weak. 



Once-trodden spots where children's feet 
Knew all the thrills of summer's touch of earth 
Are grassy now and green. 
The boughs where lovers' lips did meet — 
Where heavenly passion had its human birth — 
Are dark with death between. 

The tea-plant and the tamarack, 
The hollyhocks and timid violets, 
Half-hopeless seem to wait 
For friends, ere ruthless Time's attack 
Had left them there where sleeping love forgets 
To pass the garden gate. 

But still the birds nest in the briar; 
And still the rose's heart bursts sweetly red 
Where greenest ferns grow tall. 
Good Peace, at least, a lonesome friar, 
Says dewy beads for both bereft and dead — 
And stars shine over all. 



IN THE WILDWOOD OF THE WORLD 

Often waking from the vaguest depths of night, 

I have felt her measured breath upon my cheek; 
Often walking in the woodland's checkered light, 
My soul was thrilled with music as I heard her speak 
Of the Httle mosses dreaming all alone 
In their humble nooks, or crannies of a stone; 



Of the leaning little flowers 

That were wooing in the bowers 
Of the tangled wildwood of the world, — 
In the blessed wildwood of the world. 

So through many a night of slumber her sweet breath. 

Like a mystic cadence kissed of quiet rest, 
Lulls my soul to sleeping, to my spirit saith. 

Peace and love are fairest in the humble breast, — 
Like the gentle mosses dreaming all alone 
In their timid nooks, or crannies of a stone; 
Like the leaning little flowers 
That are loving in the bowers 
Of the tangled wildwood of the world, — 
In the sleepy wildwood of the world. 

THE LAND OF FERN 

I know a land where simple beauty dwells 

In all the blest perfection of its power. 
Where viewless sculptors carve the bud that swells 

Each springtime into song of leaf and flower. 

I know a land where fruitful waters flow 
Adown the rocks to kiss the feet of hills. 

Where beds of moss hold dreaming things that know 
The secret plan of ferns, and birth of rills. 

I know where stones have lips of velvet, soft 
As lovers' hps that part and speak and press; 



I know where silent prayer is raised aloft 

From rootlets to the boughs that winds caress. 

I lose myself in shadow where the trees 

Expand their leaves to Hght of sun and star; 

I barter self where kiss of fluent breeze 

Is fraught with fragrance whence the balsams are. 

I lean beneath the birch in reverent thought, 
I kneel beneath the oak in thankful prayer, 

And feel a spell the sacred wood has wrought 
On living things that love it everywhere. 

I spend long hours of rapture with the fern, 
Amazed to think its primal image wrought 

One changeless plan through countless forms that turn 
Not from the Artist's proof of living thought. 

I know the secrets of the mystic wood 

Where light-kissed gloom releases fair design; 

I feel the touch of silence that is good. 

And find that peace of heaven which is mine. 



DAWN 

Now the trees awake in murmurs to the winds that 

softly blow, 
Hail some vague and hidden fancy, that their pulses 

dimly know. 



All the smiling grasses bending, under splendid jewels 

seem 
Half-way conscious of a dawning, as if waking from a 

dream. 

Woodland flowers turn their faces faintly from the 

scowling West, 
As if seeking smiles and kisses, just as children do 

at rest. 

And the shaded mosses tell me they, too, dream of 

coming day. 
Though their timid hearts more slowly thrill to dawn- 

ing's paler ray. 

Happy ferns of countless tracings, standing by the 
marshes' edge, 

I am certain hail the promise of the golden day- 
god's pledge. 

All the meadow's swaying censers, all the highland 

vines that cling. 
Somehow sing the spell of morning sweeter than all 

poets sing. 



DREAMLAND VOICES 

Now sings the mated bird. 
Scarce knowing why he utters golden mirth. 

The thrilling leaves are stirred 
With melodies of bird and sky and earth. 

6 



From far-ofF fields of sleep 
I hear the drowsy phantom voices rise. 

There are no winds to sweep 
The misty murmur-echoes from the skies. 

Serene soft stars eclipse 
Their full-eyed gaze with lids of love half closed; 

The great world gently dips 
Beneath a sea of azure, opal-rosed. 

The half-wake grasses droop 
Where pools of moonlight lie between the trees; 

And tall night-shadows stoop 
Like timid silence shrinking from the breeze. 



WILD FLOWERS 

Beyond the daily paths of men, afar 

From rutted ways and dusty barren streets, 

I know where children of the wildwood are, 
Whose fragrant souls the dewy morning greets. 

These modest dreamers, long ago, have won 
My spirit back to simpler days when flowers 

And love were one, when woodland poets spun 
Their tinted lays of sweetness from the showers. 

I live again with these in forests wild. 

Where loam is dark, and mosses green are laid 

Beneath the feet; where all the air is mild, 
And gladness dwells in every nook and glade. 

7 



I wander there in freedom fair and sweet, 
Content to give my soul to them and take 

Their dreaming odors fresh from colors fleet, 
And hold them in my heart for beauty's sake. 

Ah, happy children of the happy wood ! 

*Tis blest to know you now while love is wed 
To life; and yet for widowed love 'tis good 

To feel your presence still when life has fled. 



A JUNE SONG 

I loaf away long summer days 

Where wild hares have their burrows; 

I dream all day where the woodchuck stays 
'Mid clover fields and furrows. 

I love the bees in the linden-tree 

When the linden leaves are sunny, — 

The grass to my knees like an emerald sea. 
And the bees all making their honey. 

I like to swim where the silverbugs skim 
The pools of the creek a-creeping 

Up close to the brim of the fields where slim 
Old poplars lean a-sleeping. 

I tarry long where the skylark's song 
Rises up from the fields like a spirit, 

Swift as the song of an arrow strong, 
And fades away as I hear it. 



I haunt the spring where the wild birds sing 

To dewy blossoms of glory, 
Where harebells swing and mosses ding 

To branches gnarled and hoary. 

And I loaf and he where grasses high 

Are sweetly cool and shady, 
Where earth and sky conceive and die 

In the arms of me and my lady. 

BENEVOLENTIA 

I have robbed my garden of roses red 
And hhes white for the graves of the dead. 

I have plucked from my hps their sweetest smile, 
And bestowed it where everything else was vile. 

I have treasured my noblest words to give 
Where serpents of thankless hatred live. 

I have grown most glorious grapes, and made 
A nectared vintage to drunken a jade. 

I have burdened my heart and hghtened my purse 
In barter for bruises bestowed with a curse. 

I have patiently woven my dream-wefts rare 
To brighten the walls of my lady fair; 

And my choicest woofs were torn in strips 

By the words with claws which leapt from her Hps. 

9 



I have strewn at the feet of the great and wise 
My dearest possessions beneath the skies; 

And they trampled them down, and never gave heed 
To the ruin they wrought by the callous deed. 

I have given with never a thought of return 
Fair gifts, which were taken with cool unconcern. 

I have shown sweet mercy to mean things with life, 
And spared most contemptible creatures in strife; 

But they answered my mercy with venomous stings, 
In perfect accord with the mean human things. 

I have spared my foe, when the battle was mine, 
Who had sought my blood with malicious design; 

I have spared him the thrust of a mortal fight, 

To be struck from the back in an ambush of night. 

I have answered with softness the hisses of rage; 
And impudent questions of fools, as a sage. 

Without profit my answers! no surcease from pests 
In a universe managed by savage behests! 

I have read the books of the wonderful men 
Wherein feeling was slain for the love of ken. 

Again I have seen where feeling was crazed 
In the books of men with intellects dazed. 

10 



I sorrowed and felt quite equally sad 

At feeling run riot as knowledge gone mad. 

I have builded my hopes of blood and sweat, 
And labored from dawn till the sun had set; 

From dew-wet eve till the stars went out 
At dawn again with never a doubt. 

But my labors were vain as the vainest call 
That ever the human lips let fall; 

And my hopes all died as each thing dies 

Till my Soul grew weary, and dim were my eyes. 

My Soul crawled away — as a hurt thing crept 
To the hollow of night — and my spirit wept. 

Alone I wept through the mortal years. 
Little knowing the fount of my falhng tears. 

I thought I was weeping o'er graves of the dead 
'Mid lilies white and roses red. 

I dreamed I was mourning my sweetest smile. 
Which was wasted where everything else was vile. 

I grieved for the noblest words which I said, 
Where the serpents of hatred flourished instead. 

I believed that my glorious grapes that made 
A nectared vintage were lost on a jade; 

11 



That my largess of heart and gifts of purse 
Were bartered alone for a bruise and a curse; 

That the wefts of my Soul, with its tapestries rare, 
Were lost on the wretch who seemed so fair; 



That the great and wise by a callous deed 
Had wantonly made my heart to bleed; 

That my gifts were taken only to spurn 
The spirit of giving that craved not return; 

That the mercy I showed to the weak and mean 
Was the weed that was left where the sickle had been, 

And the foe I had spared from sword and lance 
Was spared by my folly or favored by chance; 

That the legend of answers which turn away wrath 
Was invented by Satan to trouble my path; 

And that books of men were a fatuous waste 
Of clean white paper and boards and paste; 

That my hopes were crushed, — by a demon done 
To their death in a cruel burst of fun; 

That the world was a sham 'mid pitfall and fell. 
And that Hfe was mere savagery, heartless as hell. 

But at last I awoke, and knew that my tears 
Were not for these through the mortal years. 

12 



For my Soul I had wept, — my Soul that had fled 
And for many a mortal year lain dead. 

I opened my heart where the hinges grate 
(For the rust was deep on the unused gate). 

I opened my heart where the flood-gates are, 
To let in the Hght of sun and star. 

I opened my heart with a fervent prayer 
To the spirits of light and the voices of air, 

To the smiling nymphs of a new-born day; 

And they brought back my Soul from the far-away. 

It came from the far-famed Kingdom of Love, 
New-risen, song-laden of stars from above. 

And I saw my white lilies and roses red 
Entwining the brow of my loved and dead. 

I saw that of which all else had been vile 

The foul was made chaste by my sweetest smile; 

That my noblest words to hatred and spite 

Had changed their serpents to flambeaux of light; 

That the jade who was drunk on my nectared wine 
When human was now a woman divine; 

That my largess of purse was a debt I had paid, 
And my gifts of heart came back as I prayed; 

13 



That the wefts I had woven of patience and trust 
Were scantily ample as shrouds for my lust, 

And the treasures I'd cast at the feet of the wise 
Were never beheld by their wistful eyes; 

That mercy was justice deferred too long, 
And meanness was weakness ere weakness grew 
strong; 

That the foe I had spared was a friend in disguise, 
Who struck without Hght in his darkened eyes; 

That answers of kindness to hisses of wrath 
Are the blossoms of glory that border my path; 

That the book was as great as the soul of the writer, 
And the thought more strong than the arm of the 
fighter; 

That dreams are as real as the action or deed. 
And faith more holy than preachment or creed. 

Thus feeling and knowledge were squared by the rule 
That came not from men and is taught not in school. 

And the hopes I had buried with sighs and tears 
Were the frailest desires of the mortalest years. 

And this I have learned, as all men must 
Some time 'twixt birth and crumbling dust: 

14 



That whoso does his best e'er saith 
The noblest prayer this side of death; 

That he who has somewhat and somewhat gives 
Holds that in trust whereby he lives; 

That evil for good is a fiction of night, — 

For all things are good by their ultimate right; 

That he sins who sorrows for personal pain, 

Since the wounds he receives are his measure of gain 

And the culprit who slays is the victim he slew, — 
For this my enlightened Soul told me was true. 

THE MALIGNED WORLD 

How good the world is never has been told. 

The fashion is to rail against its sin, 

Decry its evil ways, augment its din 
With platitudes on ''useless hoarded gold"; 
But I am with those cheerful souls who hold 

That good is everywhere, that love has been 

The savior of our race, our souls' trust in 
All noble deeds 'twixt star and earthly mould. 
I see in country spots ten thousand sweets 

Which bloom perennially the glad year round; 
I see them throng the crowded city streets; 

I hear the swelling paeans rise and sound 
In rhythmic cadence of the heart that beats 

With good in everything above the ground. 



15 



How glad the world is never has been said. 

So prone are we to sing of grief and tears 

We scarcely note the passing, playful years, 
But dwell within their graveyards where the dead 
Unhallowed hopes of yesterday are wed 

To solemn phantoms born of dread and fears, — 

While ancient memories are all one hears. 
As though time's flight had ceased, and joy were fled. 
But we who walk with hope on either hand, 

And clasp with kisses close all joys between. 
Behold a smiling, flowery, fairy land, 

Where gladsome spirits dance 'mid leaves of green, — 
See joy in everything and understand 

The saving grace of humor's happy mien. 

How true the world is never has been sung. 

We celebrate its hoary Hes too well: 

Preach rambling doctrines red with flames^of hell, 
And mystic nightmares old when earth was young; 
Ignore the truth to which our souls have clung 

With patience greater than a god could tell. 

And sweet as all the passing years could swell 
From fair cathedral chimes by angels rung. 
I know how deep truth lies in humankind; 

How goodness grows on every spot of earth; 
How gladness sows its seeds in every mind. 

Brings forth its flower and fruit in endless birth; 
How all the cordial virtues unconfined 

May dwell in every heart, on every hearth. 



16 



MAY TWENTY-SEVENTH 

(1905) 

Lord God of Nations, Judge of valiant deeds! 

Spirit felt, — half-seen along the sky, — 
Spirit or Shade or Fate! the world's heart bleeds 

For strong men drowned, for men who groan and die. 

Yet mute we stand beside the eastern straits, — 
Deep admiration burns the soul Hke flax, — 

We see no widow far away who waits. 

Nor feel the woe that melts her heart Hke wax. 

We only hear great Togo's sea-dogs bay, — 

Firm-fixed as rock, we watch his fierce ships turn 

Their deep-mouthed guns on ships Hke potter's clay 
Which break and sink, or Hmp o'er waves and burn. 

We see the Silent Admiral, calm and still, 

Where mighty engines belch their flame and shell, 

So Hke a god, since all obey his will, — 

Both men and iron ships 'mid flames of hell. 

We see our tawny Sister, Nippon, sweep 

The eastern seas stark clean of Russian boasts, — 

If we have any woman's tears to weep, 
Be they the tears of joy at scattered hosts! 

Be they the tears that leave the eyeHds free 
For clearer vision of the deeds that won 

Unbroken victory on land and sea 

Beneath the hallowed flag of the round red sun! 

17 



Be they the tribute tears for Nippon's dead, 
The holy dead who gave their lives for Him 

Who is of Nippon, heart and soul and head: 
Colossal Spirit of her ages dim! 

Be they the tears that flov^ for wounded right, 
Long patient with the savage, snarhng beast 

That knows no higher law than brutal might 
Of fang and claw which threatened all the East! 

Be they the joyous tears that wet the breast 
Of homing heroes laurelled from the strife, — 

Sweet tears of this great Sister in the West, 
All jubilant at Nippon's larger life! 

And yet, O God of Nations, Judge of deeds! 

While mumbHng oaflets count their endless beads, 
Poor peasant Russia, ox-Hke, dumbly bleeds. 

Oppressed by sottish power and sterile creeds. 

O Thou who art the spirit of the earth, 
Whose awful shadow looms along the sky 

When furious battle moans in giving birth 
New life to nations, list to those who die! 

Give balm to orphans' woe and widows' tears, 
And peace to spirits fled of all who fought; 

Give nobler ethics to the newer years. 

And freedom from the chains that folly wrought. 

18 



If Freedom, Peace, and Progress follow fray, 
And might grow merciful with growing power; 

The sad world welcomes this sad crimson day. 
And worships Nippon's sun this bloody hour. 

STAY THY HAND 

(1898) 

Fair land that rolls from sea to sea! 

Prairies fringed with palm and pine! 
Thy mountains mingle mightily 

In clasp of ice and kiss of vine. 

Broad seas of meadow daisy strewn. 
And winding vales caressed by streams, 

And timid valleys green as June 

And sweet as childhood's happy dreams, — 

O peaceful land from tide to tide! 

O home for millions yet unborn! 
Oh, what would you of oceans wide. 

And what would you of bugle-horn ? 

United States, — war-won and made 

Of internecine strife and tears 
One blood, one flag, one damask blade, — 

One comrade-hope to greet the years! 

Lift thou, O land, thine arm no more! 

Put thou the kingly crown aside; 
Bare thou the blade our fathers wore 

To guard thine own where thine abide! 

19 



Thou hast no need for navies strong, 
No need for martial captains bold! 

Thy strength resides in ploughman's song 
Far more than all thy yellow gold. 

Smite not the lowly tribes that raise 

Their swarthy hands in Freedom's name! 

Think not that holy men will praise 

Thy creed of might, thy banner's shame! 

The puny glory won of tears. 

From gory crimes of war and death, 

Is dead to praise through all the years 
And doomed by mercy's faintest breath. 

Then sheathe thy sword from tropic isles. 
And proudly thou let heroes hold 

Dominion where the far sea smiles 

'Round homes peace-won of thy red gold. 

AMERICA 

(1904) 

Around the great round world thy pennants fly. 

The broad seas' breast hath felt thy loud guns' voice 
Its resonance hath kissed the shore and sky 

Till foes cried. Peace! for lack of other choice. 

Day follows night as thy swift eagles soar. 

Thy banner's shadow gives thy sons their Hght, 
As powder-flash foretells the cannon's roar. 

As sun-dawn greets the day in eager flight. 

20 



Thy breast hath reconciled the songs of May 

With Winter's wail. Strong life hath smiled in 
thee, — 

Strong breath of God, and spirit of the day, 
And deepful breathings of the Western Sea. 

Thy deeds are deathless as th' immortals are. 

Thou hast the splendor of great dreams that dare 
The fate of oceans wide 'neath cloud or star, — 

Thy battle-line hath swept thy foe-Une bare. 

Yea, Life hath smiled in thee, and thou hast smiled 
Upon the world. Thine eyes have heart to face 

All foes of Hberty that may be filed 

Along the world in wide skies' huge embrace. 

Thy brow is brave enough to frown on all 
The hateful acts of man. For thou art great 

Among thy sisters, — great and proud and tall. 
Within thy mien the face and front of Fate! 

Yet two things menace thee, O Land of Corn 
And Cotton! These things be the crimes of Cain 

In great south gardens, sweet as breath of morn, 
And evil plottings of thy sons for gain. 

These twain cry loud to pierce thy human ears 
With human wails escaped from red throats hoarse 

From calUng down the cruel, callous years, 
And answered only by the lash of force. 

21 



These twain are piteous from lips dark-skinned, 
And sad as grief from whiter sons of toil 

Who suffer north and south, forever sinned 
Against by soulless greed and lords of soil. 

Look forth upon thy future, O proud Land, 
With faith and hope! and in thy gardens south 

Protect thy dusky ward with thy right hand! 
His soul hath hungered greater than his mouth. 

Go make his ways as flowery as thy fields! 

For thou art God-like in thy strength and power. 
Go wipe the stains, that Crime's red harvest yields, 

From oflF thy shield ! Stains mar it at this hour. 

Within thy gardens south thy sun-kissed ward 
In pity's name holds out to thee his arms. 

Be brave, O Soul, as he who was thy lord 
And master-spirit, sane in war's alarms. 

Between thy breasts thy sons of toil rebel. 

Who, stronger grown, have now some faith in life. 

The time approaches when the battle-yell 

Shall sound again in fields all red with strife. 

Be thou their friend: too long have they been banned! 

Breathe courage in their heart and strength in arm. 
Great Soul, lead thou the way of wisdom planned, 

And guide thine own from Mammon's mortal harm! 

22 



And when thy weaker weanlings question thee, 
Or pule at courage shown in cause of right, 

Smile thou in pity, and thy purpose be 

Unswerved. Oh, falter not in thy stern might! 

They shout, "Imperialism!" yelping tikes, 
Or sucklings blind to thy far destiny! 

They know not when some great occasion strikes 
The clarion word to man imperiously. 

They see no law of growth in thy out-reach. 

No wide beneficence to all the race. 
They only hear thy strong-winged eagles screech, 

They only see the frown upon thy face. 

But there be those who see behind thy frown. 
And hear the songs that follow scream and strife. 

Upon thy Jove-like brow they see no crown. 
But only laurels of intenser life. 

This must be clear to thee, O Queen, who art 
The chosen one of world-wide destiny: 

Thy duty is allwhere, in every mart 

And clime where heart hopes for fraternity. 

Dear Titaness, outgrown of sterile forms, 

Aflush with newer life that thrills thee through. 

Thy brow hath nobler courage than the storms 
That thunder down the world, and threaten you. 

23 



Without, thou hast no fear of any foe, — 

Within the danger Hes, if any be. 
Then teach thy sons the word that they should know, — 

The love that sanctifies and sweetens thee. 

America, we pray the watch of night 

Be passed, and thy clear vision sees afar. 

Dear God of Peoples! thrill thy soul aright, 
And keep thy purpose true as any star! 

For thou art unconfined between the seas 
By musty doctrines worn away by years. 

Thou hast the power for good, — the good that frees 
Thy Sisters' sons from caste and cruel tears. 

Dear Prophet-Queen, and Mistress mightier yet 
Of realms all white with snow, and tropic isles. 

And seas and plains, and uplands granite-set! 

Thy commerce kisses, and the round earth smiles. 

Thy commerce kisses, — kisses blossom sweet 
With bloom of Art, — and subtle Science brings 

Her trophies fair to lay them at thy feet. 
While on thy brow the hving laurel clings. 

Thy fervor feels this iron age of might 
Amid the moving tide of worlds on fire; 

But in thy breast the sacred dreams of right 
Are strong in ways aflame with sweet desire. 

24 



Great love, great faith, not loathing hatred, thine; 

Nor yet unfaith in least of all Hfe's kin ! 
Unfurl thy flag, and let its white stars shine 

Where hope and spiritual glory have not been. 

Unfurl thy flag! unbend its crimson bars 
Upon the w^inds of heaven, floating high 

Earth's symbol of her Sisterhood with stars, 
One brotherhood for all beneath the sky! 

The God of Nations beckons thee afar : 

Thou hast grim missions yet ere flag be furled, 

Beneath the glory of thy fadeless star 
Upon the federation of the world. 

A SKETCH 

(C. O. M.) 

To say a man is faultless bars the way 
For saying of him many better things. 

The man is perfect, then, I will not say; 
But I aver that some Good Angel sings 

Within him purer strains than men control. 

And from the Angel's song awakes his soul. 

For he is just; and justice is a song 

That steals within the heart all unaware, 

To whiten it from stain of mortal wrong, 

And consecrate the thoughts that blossom there, 

A conscious song, that, Hke some fairy wraith, 

Is alien to the world as Doubt to Faith. 

25 



Unselfish as the bloom when down the wood 
The breath of spring foregathers sweets to fill 

The world with fragrant song; so kindly, good 
Is he to all his fellow-folk; and still 

His generous heart has that whereof to give 

Fair largess to the meekest things that live. 

His honor was not born to need defence, — 

"Four square it stands to every wind that blows, " — 

A mountain peak that scorns all small pretence. 
And smiles in pity on the thrusts of foes. 

A man of pride, — nor yet too proud to bend, — 

Thrice grateful for the chance to serve a friend. 

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN 

(at the age of seventy) 

His brow bears up the drifts of winter snow 

Like some bold headland towering toward the sky. 

He looks adown the world where harbors lie, 
And sees the burdened ships that come and go. 
He hears the whispering wave-lips murmur low, 

And all the loud-voiced breakers riding high. 

To him a fallen leaf now floating by 
Is fraught with meaning full as stars may show. 
And far across the land where human cries 

Are blent with happy voices soft and sweet. 
Where joy weds grief in highways of surprise. 

Where flowers melt in fragrance, all too fleet, 
Unto his soul each spirit-echo flies 

With song, and drops a blossom at his feet. 



LINES 

In presentation copy of 
''Ballades: Les Rayons et Les Omhres" Hugo. 

When frost is in the air 
And day is gray as grief, 

Look not on branches bare, 
For here are songs in leaf. 

And here are fragrant things 
That breathe the soul of light; 

And here mysterious wings 
Bring shadows from the night. 

The Master touched all strings 
That thrill the harp of thought; 

And still the echo rings 

With music he has wrought. 

And still rejoicing years 

Shall know the measure sweet 

Of sun and shade, of tears 
And joy he made complete. 



TO A FRIEND 

Over the world where blossoms foam, 
Or on the sea-blown billows white. 

In every clime where you may roam 
In pulse of day or heart of night, 

27 



Through time of stress or stormy weather, 
'Mid hours of song and sun and leaf, 
May garnered joy and golden sheaf 

Yet speak of days we dwelt together. 

For Time hath teeth with which to gnaw, 

And Fate assumes mysterious guise 
Of Chance and Change and clasp of law 

We feel, but see not with the eyes. 
Still mayest thou keep through shifting weather, 

Whate'er the seasons be of soul. 

Beneath the sky's inverted bowl, 
The first fair dreams we dreamt together. 



HERBERT SPENCER 

Above the world in thought he stood on high 
But yesterday, — a towering, conscious peak, 
A giant lone, titanic, great and meek, — 

The sole Victorian shaft against the sky. 

He looked afar, and measured with his eye 

All depths and heights that the immortals seek, 
All fancy-flooded realms, and facts that speak 

In divers tongues of truth that few deny. 

Now Hes he low; but whence so long he stood 
At thought's high tide ascends a pillared flame. 

He sleeps! And may his dreams be sweet and good! 
Large-lettered on the dome of day, his name 

Shall live for aye. Within the solemn wood 
Of Highgate Hill his dust endures with Fame. 

28 



THE LIGHT-HOUSE 

(to EDITH CASKEY COOPEr) 

O'er the waves a light is gleaming, 

Rising from a reef, 
Like a soul in darkness beaming 

On a sea of grief; 
On a rocky shore as lonely 

As the sea-caves are 
Stands a light-house shining only. 

Shining hke a star. 

And my eyes are wet with weeping, 

Weeping for the drowned; 
While upon the rocks are creeping 

Waves of hollow sound, 
Wolfish billows that are bHnder 

Than the corpse below. 
Cruel waves, yet not unkinder 

Than some hearts I know. 

All the night the Hght is streaming 

From a tower of gloom. 
Like a midnight watcher dreaming 

In the face of doom. 
All night long it watches, turning 

Ever round and round; 
While its fiery heart is burning 

Through the breakers' sound. 

29 



And my heart has less of sadness 

As the rays illume, 
Warning sailors of the madness 

Known of reef and spume. 
For my soul through years of dreaming, 

Watching for the Hght, 
Sees at last a beacon gleaming 

On the shores of night. 

Serene, the Soul's prophetic token 

Flashes in a look, — 
Not the hollow promise spoken 

In a creed or book, — 
But the secret of our seeing 

Sweeps the sea afar 
From the light-house of our being. 

Shining like a star. 

O'er the waves a Hght is gleaming. 

Rising from a reef, 
Like a soul in darkness beaming 

On a sea of grief; 
On a rocky shore as lonely 

As the sea-caves are 
Stands a Hght-house shining only. 

Shining like a star. 



30 



JOHN JAMES INGALLS 

(in memoriam) 
Now long ago, — for I have heard it told 

How yesterdays are ancient as the sun, 

And how they rob to-morrows, one by one. 
Of joys; how moments fled are dead and old, — 
So long ago I stood beside this bold 

And fearless man. I touched his hand that none 

Unknown to shame had feared. 'Twas then begun 
My love that deepens as the years unfold. 
O sorrows infinite that smite the breast 

Of finite consciousness! The moan and wail 
Of grief are sombre birds, that never rest 

While throbbing darkness beats and waves assail 
The wreckage ever rudderlessly pressed 

To unknown tides 'neath stars that fade and fail. 

THE PALE HORSE 

And at my door the pale horse stands 
To bear me forth to unknown lands. 

John Hay. 
There in the gloomy midnight 

With all the stars asleep. 
Beneath the floating rivers 

That cross the mystic deep. 
The pale horse pawed and whinnied, 

As restless as the sea, 
To take a great soul forward 
From where it loved to be. 

31 



Before "The Fells" at midnight 

The pale horse pawed and neighed: 
But only the shadows saw him, 

And only the shadows made 
The sign that he was present, 

And deaf was mortal ear 
To prancing hoof and whinny 

Of the pale horse waiting near. 

The stirrups swayed at midnight; 

A clear-eyed spirit strode 
The charger pale as morning, 

And bravely away he rode. 
He took the path that mortals 

Begin when Day is done, — 
A path for his great spirit 

To hills beyond the sun. 

In deepest gloom of midnight. 

Through vales of quiet sleep, 
He left the kisses of children 

And laurels for wife to keep. 
The horse was pale as moonlight 

That bore his honored name. 
With love of home and country. 

To higher hills than Fame. 

From sombre pines at midnight. 
Across New Hampshire hills, 

A faint breath floats and kisses 
The half-mast flag it thrills, 

32 



And tells a grieving people 
Of the pale horse in his flight 

That bore a splendid spirit 
Away from earth at night. 



TO A DEAD MAN 

On the hillside, in the quiet, from the world apart, 
Resting in the sombre, silent shadows after Hfe, 
Sleeping in the solemn memories made of weary strife. 
We have left him as we laid him with a wreath above 
his heart. 

All the trees had hushed their murmurs in the grave- 
yard where they stood; 

All the grasses, like sweet children under sorrow's 
early blow, 

Joined the silence of the mourners, drooping sadly, 
seemed to know 

What the leaves lost in the forest, why the stillness 
of the wood. 

We were children then beside him, and the eldest of 

us felt 
Helpless, hopeless, in the darkness there, though 

highest stood the sun. 
And we marvelled at his stillness, that his active 

Hfe was done. 
And the mystery of his manner rose triumphant as we 

knelt. 

33 



On the hillside, in the quiet, at a peaceful place, 
Resting in the sombre, silent shadows after life, 
Sleeping in the solemn memories made of weary strife. 
We have left him as we laid him with a smile upon 
his face. 



MAROONED 

Long, long ago I prayed to God, 

Prayed as a Httle child on bended knee, 
In the same sweet fervor, love, that I give to thee 
My whole heart now, and through the long night*s 
sleep wherein thy dreams are one with blossoms 
rooted in the sod. 



Yes, once I prayed, and now I pray no less, 
Because my love for thee takes all my speech. 
Even as no space too distant is beyond the reach 
Of God's great laws. So are the harmonies of thee 
which search me through until my very soul for- 
gets that aught else may bless. 

I watch the red sun rise above the sea. 
Far out beyond the marshes' level rim 
Where the cool mists mingle and make dim 
The ships, so like the phantom memories and hope- 
less dreams and shifting mysteries (forever in 
my brain) of thee. 

34 



Beyond the great hills in the West's embrace 
I see the sun sink low in golden sleep, 
While all the warden stars come out to keep 

Their watch upon the world, as if to seek the rare 
beauty of thine eyes, and smile upon thy face. 

And here upon the marshes in the night, 
I know that I am long marooned by fate. 
Broken with weariness and cold, to watch and wait 
For the slow dawn to break in glory of love's perfect 
day, the perfectness whereof shall be thy image 
to my sight. 



ROBERT G. INGERSOLL 

We kiss the urn that guards his sacred dust; 
With reverent lips we press the speechless urn; 
We kiss our shrine, and clasp it as we must. 
For on life's road it marks the stop or turn — 
We cannot say which 'twas — the Master made. 
We only know his god-Hke presence there 
Was touched to smile, and waft a kiss, and fade. 
Some think he journeys on, and some declare 
It is the end. But we who loved him so. 
And stood Hke children at his knee to hear 
The golden words, confess we do not know; 
And yet our love and hope out-wing all fear. 

This much we know: whate'er the seasons be 
Of soul beyond our straining, tear-dimmed sight, 

35 



This blessed man is Prince of Joy; that he 

Who made of clay and tears and laughing Hght 

The tenderest memories of adoring wife, 

The sweetest dreams that children ever knew, 

And charmed with friendship's mantUng love the life 

Of stumbling, weary souls inspired anew 

To chmb the hills, — this holy man who thrilled 

A miUion men with love of better things. 

Who sowed the seeds of flowering thought that filled 

The happy gardens of the world, where sings 

The mated bird, and where the ripphng streams 

Of children's laughter and the soft low breath 

Of maidens' vows have peopled poets' dreams 

Of immortality, of life and death, — 

This brave and tender man who never wronged 

The least of any race, who fought for right. 

Who loved the world, abhorred the myths that throng 

With devils, saints, and gods and creeds of might, — 

This saner, sweeter, nobler Christ is blest; 

For, whether souls Hve on or starless night 

Enfolds, we know dear Robert is carest 

By dreamless sleep, or fives — a Prince of Light. 



WALT WHITMAN 

He gave his wealth to the summer air 

As a spendthrift flower its perfume rare. 

He knew not what was discontent. 

For he worshipped the god of abandonment. 

36 



He walked the daisied fields of God 
Dreaming the dreams new-born of the sod. 
And beings that breathed where his footsteps bent 
Somehow breathed, too, of abandonment. 

He sang old songs of the world when new 
That in some sweet way were as fresh as the dew; 
And he laughed as he drank the happy air, 
As a child might laugh in a rocking-chair. 

He kissed his hand to a mocking-bird, 
And the dear thing sang, as I never heard. 
Some wayward strain of wild content 
That thrilled its mate with abandonment. 

He bared his breast to the winsome breeze, 
With half-shut eyes gazed long at the trees 
That, shading the lazy river's brim, 
Stopped in their gossip to bow at him. 

With the pink lips close of a shell to his ear 
He listened long, and seemed to hear 
The song of the sea as it kissed the shore, 
While his deep eyes drank in a world or more. 

And he faded away from the sight of men; 
But the trees, I guess, have seen him again. 
And the mocking-birds and flowers and grass. 
The sod and breeze, have seen him pass. 

37 



For his wondrous ways of abandonment, 
His wealth of ways and sweet content, 
Live on in the love of bird and breeze. 
In flowering things and brooks and trees. 

And I sometimes think, when the sun hangs low 
And revels in painting the clouds aglow. 
That he speaks to me with his wistful eyes 
Of abandonment in the wine-spilt skies. 



BEAUTY'S SLAVE 

Oh, let me be thy taper, love. 

And for thy beauty burn! 
I care not where your glorious eyes 

In rapturous love may turn. 
If only I may lay myself 

In wanton waste to you; 
Your breasts of snow may still be snow 

If passion burn them through. 

Your heart of snow may still be snow 

If I, a coal, may lie 
Upon your bosoms white at night. 

And glow and burn and die. 
I care not where your glorious eyes 

In rapturous love may turn, 
If I may be thy taper, love, 

And thou thy taper's urn. 

38 



BIRTHDAY BLOSSOMS 

(SEPTEMBER l6, .) 

The years are fair and -fleet. 
With every year a blossom 
And every blossom sweet. 

Thy life first dropped its rootlets in the garden of a 

dream; 
The garden smiled a welcome, and the welcome, it 

would seem. 
Each year put forth a blossom, and each year the 

blossom grows 
More sweet with each September as the blossom 

blooms a rose. 

And love was in the sunhght when thy life was just 

begun; 
And beauty wooed its blossoms as the years fled, one 

by one. 
Until the bud and blossom met in mild September 

haze. 
When beauty dreamt of kisses, kisses blossomed into 

days. 

And thus in mild September, when the year is down- 
ward bent. 

The blossom of thy beauty, with the bloom that love 
has lent, 

Is blown to saintly sweetness in the soft September 
haze. 

In token of the memory-buds that mark thy natal days. 



May all thy days be roses \s-ith their petals velvet- 

go\sTied; 
Mav all-to-come Septembers find thee fair as this has 

found; 
May life and love and beauty make unceasing union 

here. 
Until the roses faint with joy and time is brown and 

sere ! 

A SONG OF THE SUN AND DEW 
If I were the sun and vou were the dew, 

Each morn as the world lay asleep. 
Now can't you guess what I would do 
If I were the sun and vou were the dew 

And the old world half asleep r 

rd draw you awav from the arms of day. 

And take you along with me; 
And fold you close as a rosebud tight, 
And set you down on the shores of night, 

And put you to sleep bv a sombre sea. 
Watched by the eves of the starry skies. 
Kissed bv the breezes soft and low, — 
Kissed and kept till the morning glow 

Should crive you back to me. 

So, if I were the sun and you were the dew. 

Each morn as the world lay asleep, 
Now can't you guess what I would do 
If I were the sun and you were the dew 
-\nd the old world half asleep : 

40 



MY HELEN'S EYES 

Where Georgia uplands touch the skies, 
Now gray with clouds and cHnging mist; 

Where changing beauty never dies 

On red hills warm and purple-kissed; 

Where oak and pine hold strong domain, 
With leaf and vine aglow with dreams 

Of semi-tropic tempered rain, 

That bursts in song from fretted streams; 

Where cabins peep from cotton fields. 
Or sheltered meads that house the quail, 

Where summer lingers, loves and shields 
The nursling shoots of hill and vale; 

Where dancing fairies tame the air. 
Till every little breeze that blows 

Holds in its heart, like gloom of hair, 
Some mystery that beauty knows, — 

I linger yet, while Memory holds 

Her longing face averted-wise 
To southward where deep browns and golds 

Are wedded in my Helen's eyes. 



41 



SONG OF A STARLING 

An inspiration golden 

Came with me to dwell, 
Dainty as a sunbeam 

In a lily-bell, — 
Dainty as a sunbeam, 

Dearest thing I knew! 
But, oh, it was crushed, love, 

'Neath the heel of you. 

Precious Httle tempter! 

Your trysting-place and trust 
A darhng Httle woman 

Has trampled in the dust. 
You fell before her lifeless, 

Because the words she said 
Had chilled my dainty starHng 

Until its life had fled. 

I laid you on her bosom 

Of bare and billowed white; 
But the soul of you had perished 

In the mystery of night. 
Her thrill, though warm and woosome. 

My agony and pain. 
Could ne'er recall your spirit 

To that which she had slain. 

My eager arms are empty; 

My woful heart would break, — 
I call thee tender names, love. 

Ten thousand for her sake! 
42 



My whispers woo thee nightly: 
They haunt the smiling shore, 

When, dreaming for a moment. 
You live with us once more. 

But, oh, my flitting fancy, 

Dear angel sprite of soul! 
You fled beyond my vision 

Of utter hope and goal. 
I linger weary, waiting. 

And watching through my tears, 
With burning bHndness yearning 

For thee, my love of years. 

Why bear this grim ** forever," 

This bite of grief sublime. 
When never star-babe blesses 

Again my tired time 
With e'er again another. 

Nor little beam of light 
From constellated musings 

Where sits the sable Night ? 

An inspiration golden 

Came with me to dwell, 
Dainty as a sunbeam 

In a Hly-bell, — 
Dainty as a moonbeam 

Dancing in the dew! 
But, oh, it was crushed, love, 

'Neath the heel of you. 

43 



KISSES 

The lips that I have kissed with heat 
Are red with blood and bee-stung yet: 

My loves have found no grave so sweet 
As this, — to love and then forget. 

I have no flesh-loves under ground, — 
No gaunt remorse comes back to turn 

My passion-songs to plaintive sound. 
Where cypress creeps among the fern. 

When scarlet fades from lips that swelled 
When my lips pressed them close and long. 

And dusts of earth fill eyes that held 
The mystic light of starry song, 

I know how joyless day shall be. 

How all the night's uncertain gloom 

Shall throng with doubts to menace me, 
And memories which crowd the tomb. 

And so I laugh and laugh; and yet — 
I dream sometimes my love is dead, 

When not a thing lets me forget 

The least she did, the least she said. 

And there within the folds of sleep 
My soul doth seek the opiate-clod 

Where she each night hath flowers to keep 
Sweet kisses moist upon the sod. 

44 



Her dew-wet kisses eve and dawn, 

Where phantom daisies droop and nod, 

In mystery of dreams have drawn 
Some tender magic down from God. 

LATE SUMMER 

Large were her breasts, and in her eyes 
Dwelt the memories of other days, — 

Dream-spun ghosts 'neath ItaHan skies, 
Fleecy clouds and a changing haze 

Of dead love's longing, and a dead love's vow. 

Full and shapely lay her Hps 

In sad repose that was half a smile. 

And generous curves threw no eclipse 
On passion too plaintive to make denial 

From dimple of foot to placid brow. 

Threads of gray in her soft brown hair 
Quickened my love for her ripened wealth 

Of womanly beauty, and I declare 
My heart fell prey to a subtle stealth. 

That her bated beauty holds even now. 

A HANDFUL OF CLOVER 

There's a blood-red fleck on my lady's breast. 
And a sea of night in my lady's eyes, 

And coral tips of the clover rest 

Too close to the flesh that I covet and prize. 

45 



There's a beautiful world where my lady breathes, 
There's Egyptian wealth in her hair of night, 

And the pale pink clover binds and wreathes 
A brow as fair as the soul of light. 

So I dream of her lips, and the ruby red 
That an angel left on her fair fine breast, 

Till my heart must speak, though my soul hath said 
It envies the clover she kissed and pressed. 



EVEN SO 

Your flame of love burns low, my pet. 
The twilight's dawn and night's high noon 

Have drowsed away, I know, and yet — 
I mourn your loss of love so soon. 

Perchance some newer taper burns 
The moth-wings of your soul, my pet; 

For love like yours laughs once and turns 
Where even dagger-points forget. 

Your love hath rode the heights, my pet, 
Bare-back astride some bat of night; 

And you have thought well to forget 
Our crimson crush of love at sight. 

Your love hath sounded all the deeps. 
But not as eagles cleave the air; 

And yet the slimy lizard creeps 
Perhaps to caves you did not dare. 

46 



Your love hath known of forests dark, 
And not where holy trees find breath, 

But down the gulfs where mushrooms stark 
UpHft their pallid stems of death. 

I mourn your loss of love, my pet; 
I mourn for your poor crippled wings. 

For I — well, I must needs forget 
The tarnished hope of changing things. 



A LOVE-QUEEN 

Tall as stately lilies grow. 

My Queen is all that queens may be. 
And dreams that sleeping poppies know 

Live in her eyes and speak to me 
Of all that passion dares to paint 

Upon the canvas of the soul. 

Black as night when star-eyes sleep, 
My lady's hair hangs low and lies 

In witching curls where fairies keep 

Their watch and ward; and mine own eyes 

That wander free from all restraint 

Drink deep where blue-veined billows roll. 

Ample breasts of snow and fire, 

And waist and hips of more than grace! 

My lady holds my fierce desire 
In thrall with her Madonna face, 

47 



Till I could die for beauty's sake, 
Or live where her red roses blow. 

Dear and sweet is love's caress: 

The touch of her small hand to me 

Is Hke the kiss of flowers that bless 
Some vagrant breeze just oflF the sea; 

Or, like the dews to plants half-wake 
Ere eastern skies begin to glow. 



ONE CLINGING HOUR 

In dim Swiss valleys sweet with hay 
New-made by peasant girls I spent 

Some early blushes. Life's red day 
Unwound itself from night, and lent 

The purple-poppied love to sing 
And soothe. The new-mown hay was blent 

With shadows; and on happy wing 
The mated bird wooed blithe content. 

And, lo! between the cool white peaks 
I measured all my world, and found 

For one short summer day the cheeks 
That told their blushes to the ground 

As eager flags of flame unfurled 
A mute desire in mine. No sound 

Profaned the chnging hour. Earth hurled 
Itself away, and we were bound. 

48 



KATHLEEN 

My love to her is like some fairy gown: 

She puts it on when skies are blue, and earth, 
A dimpled babe of heaven, smiles, — when mirth 
And golden pleasure, as a jaunty crown 
Upon her brow, have made her quite the queen, — 
A careless mistress she, my fair Kathleen! 

My love she holds it well to don and doff, 
Is proud to know that it is all her own. 
Yet lightly deems it as a thistle blown 

Across some sunny lawn, — a thing to scoff, 

Or trifling toy put by and left unseen 

When break the sober dawns on fair Kathleen. 

She wears my love as maidens wear a rose: 
To-night it nestles near her proud heart-beat, 
At dawn its petals He where her white feet 
Shall pass and crush them 'neath their magic snows 
With cruel scorn, as all the world has seen 
Her hapless lovers crushed by fair Kathleen. 



REQUITAL 

I sought in dreams a Princess dear to me: 

I wandered where the wind's soft whispers told 
Sweet grass and trees of her; 

I questioned all the colors, — flower and tree, 

49 



And tangent kiss of sun that flooded them 

With beauty's apothegm 
Of her dark hair and eyes. 
Yet she eluded me as shadows run 
Before the eager face of wooing sun 

When white clouds fleck the skies. 

Not till morning almost touched the noon 
With fervent kiss, did I behold my love, 
Whose hair was night, whose eyes 
Of liquid darkness made my hot blood swoon 
With such delicious things that, all aglow, 
I marvelled at the snow 
Of her too perfect breast. 
Now is she come, and, like each perfect thing, 
Brings pain with overjoy. And so I fling 
In air my heart's behest. 



A ROSE SONG 

dark red rose, O blood-red rose, 
O flower to my fancy wed! 

1 wonder if your mistress knows 
The tears that we have shed ? 

You nestle where her hands have placed 
Your bursting heart to mine. 

Where every beat lies love-encased 
As leaves fold over thine. 

50 



O dear red rose, O deep dark rose, 

I wonder if there be 
One little pang your mistress knows 

Since you have died for me ? 

Alone you grew, and wooing breeze 

Embraced your fragrant breath. 
Her dainty hand recked not of these. 

Nor of your love-lorn death. 

Nor weep, dear rose, but sleep, red rose, 

And dream of her dusky eyes. 
Pray God, red rose, that your mistress knows 

The flames you symboUze. 



NIGHT IN THE PARK 

Bright and far were holy stars. 
Dark and near the shadows stood, 

Red as blood the planet Mars,— 
Brooding night was on the wood. 

Soft as steahng shadows move. 
Gentle as the cradled boat. 

Girdling, clasped the arms of love, 
Trembling kisses sought her throat. 

Starry dancers tripped the lake, 
Hushed the whispers of the dark, 

Love and Life were half awake, 
Half asleep in Forest Park. 

51 



While the drowsy curtains fell, 
And the lazy moon was late, 

Who shall speak, and who may tell 
Of the endless ways of fate ? 

Gentle Christ! the waters kissed, 
Soft as love, the leaning grass; 

Did we gain, or have we missed. 
Something that in whispers pass ? 

Lovers face an endless guess: 

Which is wrong and what is right ? 

Still I hold it well to bless 

All the ways of fate that night. 



VIOLETS 

In a garden of old Verona, 

Where tender violets grow, 
I walked with a queenly woman; 

And I would that she might know 
My heart was aflame with passion 

That glad and golden hour. 
When I plucked the purple blossom - 

And she folded away the flower. 



A SMILE OF AUTUMN 

Wan autumn lights are sighing on the hills, 
The harvest fields are sad and shorn. 



52 



There is no music in the solemn rills, 

And only a harsh murmur in the fields of corn. 

But in her fawn-brown eyes that follow me 
No sadness lurks nor tearful thought: 

All melody of earth and sky and sea 

Lives in the magic spell that she has wrought. 

Thus all the seasons' change to me doth seem 

Unlike the fitful, moody years. 
But rather like some ever-changing dream 

Of joy that never knew the salt of tears. 

There is not any grief and no regret 

In this dear boon that blesses me; 
No little thing my heart would fain forget 

In all the mystic depths of Love's great sea. 



LOVE'S STAR 

My love is sweet as some dear flower, 

That dreams of dawn and dew; 
And pure as chimes that fairies ring 
From blossoms blithe and bloom of spring. 
When dusk is in the hour 
And grass is green and new. 

I dream amazed of days that were 

Before my love was mine; 
And wonder why we dwelt apart, 

53 



Two souls with but a single heart 

And that heart all with her, 

And she all but divine. 
But, when I think how pure and white 

Her soul is on the earth, 
I wonder not, but marvel why 
A mortal won a star from sky, 

Ablaze with love and light 

For one so poor in worth. 

A MAN'S MARVEL 

O love, thy heart is whiter than the white snow 

Of frost-bloom down the air. 
Dear heart, thy breath is sweeter than soft June sighs, 

When all the world is fair. 

O love, thy brow slopes up to God, 
Thine arms reach down to me. 

Thou art the sun, and I the sod 
A-blossom under thee. 

O love, thy soul more perfect is than dreams are 
When my glad heart leaps to thine. 

Dear one, I love thee deeply, — more than man loves 
The something deemed divine. 

O love, thine eyes light all the skies: 

I marvel that for me 
They bend their beams all mercy-wise 

To earth where mortals be. 

54 



SIXTEEN 

VentreSaint grts! 

(henry IV. AND CHARLOTTE MARGUERITE DE MONT- 
MORENCY) 

With two-Step lilt she skims the street: 
She walks with dreamland graces yet; 

And all the while her musicked feet 
Keep time my soul would fain forget. 

I cannot choose but follow there, 

With old-time odors over me, 
Where trails her burnished noon of hair, — 

A breath of dainty subtlety. 

Her laughing words assail my ears. 

And set aflame dead-leaf desires; 
While Maytime mist upfloats in tears, 

And dim-eyed ashes dream of fires. 

To walk again the pansied path. 
Forget the lessons love has taught, 

I would defy the direst wrath 

That ever man or demon wrought. 

Old Spider Time enmeshes me. 

And rime of years has robbed my hair 

Of all the golden mystery 

That used to dance and shimmer there. 

55 



Ah you, O maid of poppy bloom 
And lily's dower of sinless hue! 

I loathe to think that at his loom 
The gray old Spider spins for you. 



FATE 

Thou art a cunning tide that sneaks and crawls 
From out the hungry horror of the night; 
Or like a maddened fury in thy might, 

Tormented by the moon and sharp sea-squalls. 

Within thy depths a black heart laughs at woe. 
And mocks with glee thy victim's gasping breath 
Ere mangled life and hope are one in death. 

Or drowned ambition lies a corpse below. 

I see thy shadowy fingers crook and reach: 

I hear thee screech where scattered waifs are cast 
Along the shore of days now overpast, — 

Along gray reefs and on the pounding beach. 

I know thy subtle ways of hidden snares 

That lure the soul some pleasant path to take. 
And where thy thousand seemly whispers make 

Ten thousand dangers worse for him who fares. 

But my defiant soul hath scorn for thee: 
If grief shall break my heart, I answer yet, 
/ have a heart to break! and can forget 

The stones that bruise, the hunger pressing me. 

56 



I have the will to look between thine eyes. 

If thou art Master, I at least can be 

As fearless as the spirit blessing me 
With conscious trust in all things 'neath the skies. 

Erect my soul shall stand forefronting thee, — 
Exulting strength that dares thy sternest might; 
All unafraid to face the blackest night 

That e'er was filled with threats on land or sea. 

If fortune fail me, let her go and stay! 

My soul from all that is came forth entire, 
To all that is with calm faith can retire, 

Enrobed for rest or armored for the fray. 

So, if my soul shall journey on and grow 
More perfect, then have I no cause to fear; 
And if it melts, dissolves Hke dead leaves sere, 

Then thou canst never harm it, — that I know. 



A BALLAD OF CHANGE 

There stood along the king's highway 

A stoHd house hard-by; 
The eaves were sloping low between 

Two willows spreading high; 
White lilacs in the dooryard bloomed, 

With tiger-lilies nigh. 

Tall locust-trees stood on the left, 
A lane ran down the right; 

57 



Behind, the smiling garden crept 
To foaming orchards white. 

And all around the spacious ground 
Were fireflies at night. 

Beyond the orchard flowed a stream 

With chestnuts on the bank; 
Beneath them slender violets grew, 

Below them cattle drank. 
And over all was sun by day. 

At night the dews were dank. 

The dews were dank at early morn; 

At morn the roses seemed 
To blush with modesty because 

So many jewels gleamed. 
The hollyhocks demurely stood 

But half awake, and dreamed. 

The spreading currant bushes low 

Were coral-gemmed between 
The berry vines and jessamines 

And dahlias' leaves of green. 
While bleeding-hearts beside them grew,- 

The reddest I have seen. 

The cypress cooled the corner-stone, 

A juniper the door; 
A grape-vine cHmbed its trellis near. 

While on the whitened floor 
No carpet lay, but in its stead 

A home-made rug or more. 

58 



Across the lane, upon a hill 

Tall poplars pierced the sky; 
And purple lilacs grew between 

Green plats and fir-trees high. 
And, just below, a dark cave sHpped 

'Neath rocks where waters lie. 

A cherry-tree with vines o'erlaced, 

Gave shelter from the sun 
To garden walk that met the spring 

Where coolest waters run, 
Behind the pear-trees, through the lot 

Where clover leaves are spun. 

And here within this happy world 

A child was used to roam: 
He played with flowers beneath the trees 

That touched the azure dome. 
He loved the field of clover bloom 

Where wild bees built their home. 

He watched the fireflies in the field, 

The bright stars overhead. 
He questioned all the flowers if they 

Had guessed why some were red ? 
He guessed that some were red with blood, 

That human hearts had shed. 

Now things no longer are the same. 
The stolid house lies low; 

59 



Its very ashes ceased to be 
Since tall weeds came to grow. 

And all around the precious ground 
Are things he does not know. 

He does not know the little bowers 
That housed his dreams by day; 

He sees no fairies in the leaves 
Where fairies were alway. 

He only sees a wretched place 

Where mean things crawl and stay. 

All friendUness has left the things 

That grow there or decay, 
And everywhere a menace prowls 

Where once were nymphs of day. 
Now only dole is in his soul 

That once knew how to pray. 

And wherefore all this change, I trow, 

No mortal yet has told: 
It seems to come with passing years. 

And bitterness of gold, — 
The dregs of years and stains of tears 

That make the heart grow cold. 

O Lord, we know how sad it is 
That these sad things should be 

On either side as waters glide 
Forever toward the sea; 

When stars, alas! are broken glass 
Of shattered memory. 

60 



DOUBT 

I walk amid the maze of life, 

At home and yet alone. 
The tooth of hate, the god of strife, 

The human hearts of stone, 
And all the terrors teeming round 
Make me distrust the solid ground. 

The piles that human corals build, 
And dens the spiders weave; 

The dirty streets with hunger filled, 
And hearts that beat to grieve; 

And all the waste of blood and tears, — 

Besiege and fill my soul with fears. 

I walk the dusty ways of trade. 
And breathe the breath of gain. 

And see fife's roses pale and fade 
Beneath a needless pain. 

Until my very soul derides 

The faith that love on earth abides. 

I wonder why the martyrs died. 

And why the heroes bled; 
How any grave scarce three feet wide 

Can hold some pompous dead; 
And why a church proclaims its creed 
As clutching tradesmen voice their greed .? 



61 



GOD 

There is no little thing in all this world 

Forgot by thee, O Soul supreme and sweet. 
Thy mercy shows itself when storms have hurled 

Their fury at the stars beneath thy feet. 
I read the sign, and know; 
For Httle flowers burst in fragrant love 

And smile upon the air which vengeance rode 
In thundering car drawn by the steeds of Jove 

When gloomy Titans stormed the gods' abode 
One little hour ago. 



LIFE 

The years are a song 

Of laughs and cries; 
And love is a long, 

Sweet, tireless flight. 
Of dear unrest 

On a breath of sighs, 
With dreams at best 

On the shores of night. 



ALONE 

Our days were long as love, and happy seemed 
All voices of the earth and sky and sea. 
We knew no joy save what the other dreamed 
Was good; and every wind that wandered free 

62 



A message lent of sweet-mouthed minstrelsy. 
We sat beneath our vine when mid-day beamed 
The sun, and yet, when fell the night's decree, 
We lingered while the starlight on us streamed. 
Then came the time when I must sit alone. 
In depths far deeper than the circling sun 
Has measured through the years that he hath flown. 
And since that time the shadows one by one 
Athwart my lonely life have deeper grown, 
Enfolding me where hope is dead and done. 



THE SPIRIT OF DEMOCRACY 

Between earth's darkHng womb and quiet moon 

No little straying thing is mean or small; 

The least of these shall yet upreach to all. 

And all shall bow to littleness full soon. 

The rough old parent rocks are earth's sweet boon. 

The voiceless trees have tongues with which to call; 

And playful threads of moss-fringed waterfall 

Have somehow found the fragment of a tune. 

I look on men, — their souls are fair to me, — 

And, though their lives in tangled courses run, 

I love the very knots of Hfe, and see 

Of loop and kink a flower deftly spun. 

In tear-born streams that seek the levelling sea, 

I solve the sweetest problem of the sun. 



63 



THE MIDDLE AGES 

Oh, the gloating in the gloaming and the never-ending 
pain; 

And the whispers in the darkness, and the voices 
in the day — 

And the vulture birds of midnight; and the plashing 
tears of rain; 

And the moans of children dying, and the demon- 
men at play! 

Oh, the hopelessness of watching, when the soul of 

hope is strong, 
In the prison-house of waiting, which is worse than 

dumb despair; 
For the demon-claw is tearing, while the mocking 

laugh of Wrong 
Through the outer world of murder fills the inner 

heart with care. 

Oh, the gnashing and the clashing of the fangs of 

horrid Hate! 
And the poison in the playing and the preying greed 

of gain; 
And the hungry babes at twihght, and the coffin at 

the gate. 
And the lighted halls of laughter near benighted 

dens of pain! 

Oh, the loving of the martyrs who had souls of spot- 
less white! 

64 



Oh, the labors of the loving who were toilers grim 

and brave! 
They have sown the seed at seed-time in the darkling 

fields of night; 
And their tear-wet, weary sowing blossoms now above 

their grave. 



WAR 

The Pestilence of 7 ears 

In the graveyard of the nations, in the trenches of the 

slain, 
In the lurid smoke of battle, in the steel and leaden 

rain. 
In the blood of butchered heroes and in needless 

moans and tears. 
Live the ghosts of cruel ages and the pestilence of 

years. 

What is all this grim disorder, all this savagery of men 
With their mighty, murderous engines belching fire 

and hell again ? 
But the madness of the rulers, and the selfish greed of 

gain. 
And of craven monsters feeding on the bleeding hearts 

of pain. 

Oh, the children born of women, with their tender- 
ness and tears, 

65 



Must they turn to beasts of murder at the putting on 

of years ? 
Or is madness of the rulers, and the lust of cruel gain, 
But the demon-ghosts that wander where the trenches 

scar the plain ? 

What means all this waste of treasure, all the seas of 

blood and tears. 
Spendthrift children spill through ages in the seething 

tide of years ? 
Is it to assuage some monster, drunk with blood of 

babes and men, 
ReeHng through the halls of pleasure, laughs and 

then must drink again ? 

O ye babes of winsome women, nursed too kindly 

at the breast. 
Would ye turn the fangs of hatred on your brothers, 

like caressed ? 
Have ye had no dreams of mercy, have ye known no 

pity's tears ? 
Will ye never heed Love's teaching through the red 

and crazy years ? 

A CRY OF THE SOUL 
{With Compliments to the greatest living Poet) 
O Love, with thy infinite sorrows; 

O Life, so tenacious and strong; 
O yesterday's warp in to-morrow's 

Red woof of the blossoming song; 

66 



O yesterday's warp in to-morrow's 
Gray woof of the ultimate wail, — 

O Love, with thy infinite sorrows, 
And Life's one monotonous tale. 

We drink from thy cup, which is golden. 

The draught of the vintage of years, 
Unholy as sins that are olden. 

More bitter than bittermost tears, — 
The love that is fettered with longings. 

With longings it fain would conceal, 
Denials that wrest the belongings 

From hands in perpetual appeal. 

Thy bruises that mangle, the bleeding 

Red Hps of the wounds that are torn, 
Reopened again with mute pleading 

And answered with insolent scorn. 
We turn to the infinite changes, 

From altars where vainly we sued, 
While paUid unrest re-arranges 

The fragments of Hfe's plenitude. 

We marry, and turn to discover 

On Hps and in eyes new deHght. 
The woman may reach for her lover 

Fair arms that embrace only night. 
Impossible kisses redouble 

Desire bursting out into flame 
From bondage that yokes us to trouble 

And trouble that ties us to shame. 

67 



O hunger that feeds on emotion, 

O seas of unbearable things, 
O endless and changing devotion, 

That shrinks from the arrows and stings 
Of monsters, mismated immortals. 

Whose eyehds grin jealous, green fire, — 
Like unto bane serpents through portals 

Of hell when its heart is desire! 

O Love, have you crowns of dear roses ? 

O Life, be there other than pain ? 
O Death, is thy dream what encloses 

From harm the quick soul of the slain ? 
Is Sorrow the twin that embraces. 

With kisses, her sister Delight ? 
Does blood that is broken leave traces 

Like tears on the face in the night ? 

We ask, and the answer is only 

An echo that mocks our despair. 
We stumble through days that are lonely, 

Face nights that seem come to ensnare 
Our souls for the wanton, fierce pleasure, 

Of torture and fiendish delight. 
O Life, does thy cruelty measure 

The blackness of ultimate night .? 



68 



THE ABSOLUTE 

Faces fade and ears forget, 
Voices lose the soul of song, 

Memory strays while even yet 
Echoes Hnger sweet and long. 

Fading, winding out of sight 

Through the changing scenes of day, 
Dear warm spirits of delight 

Colder, dimmer grow alway. 

Pearls of pleasure, rubies red. 

Trinkets of an idle hour. 
Coronal for regal head. 

Soon are spent as blush of flower. 

Love alone, a changeless star, 
Braves the fickle mortal years; 

Beams in fadeless glory, far 

Down the world adrift in tears. 



FALSE FAME 

Up from the portals of the Night he came; 
Down from the brow of Dawn to heart of Noon. 
His footsteps sped where flowers, half a-swoon, 
Bent low before his eager flight for Fame: 
Fleet-foot his race despoiled their souls' acclaim. 
Now golden-girdled Day doth envy Moon 
Of midnight, and the tawny twilight's boon; 



Yet frowning Fame hath blotted out his name. 
Thus Fame was false; and cruel all the ways 
The great brute world in sordid pomp has trod. 
The soul is lost that wastes the freer days 
Of woodsong, mirth, and stream-kissed flowers and 

sod, — 
The courted world a courtesan that slays 
The children of the brain, beloved of God. 



ON SLIDING GROUND 

We Hnger over old wine. 

We tarry where our pleasure tempts. 
With ruthless hand we tear the vine 

That feeds us, in our large attempts 
To reach beyond the dead plane 

That, desert-wise, afar and 'round 
Drinks up our strength. In vain, in vain! 

Our feet are set on sliding ground. 

0/7, chide us not! we all must fall 
Sometime, somewhere. Forgive us all! 

We tease and coax the tame laugh. 
We try to piece-out pleasure spent. 

With deathless thirst we quaff" and quaff". 
And feed our want on discontent. 

And so, beyond and yet near. 

Almost in reach, just out of grasp, 

70 



We vaguely clutch through cheer and fear 
At dim desire with empty clasp. 

mortal brother, chide us not! 

For Fate was blind when God forgot. 

MY SOUL AWAKES 

My soul awakes, — my soul that slept 

Until thy trembling pulse was mine, — 

Soft slumbers slowly disentwine 
My spirit. Dear, my soul has wept, 

A-dreaming, misty tears that wet 
The lashes merely. Now to thine 

My Hps put forth, nor fain forget, 
Thy kisses are my bread and wine. 

1 hear the roaring traffic swell 

Along the ridge and through the glen, 

And all the mighty hum of men, 
As noble bees' where flowers dwell. 

My being thrills! my soul awakes! 
The harp of love is taut in tune; 

And all my spirit's passion takes 
Its music from the pulse of June. 

For I have seen your wondrous eyes. 

Like woodland pools dark-fringed with fern, 
And felt their earnest glances burn 

Like mid-day suns from tropic skies. 
Thy whispers woo my soul from me; 

71 



And all my being's tide doth flow 

Where necklaced arms enfold unfree, 
Two waking spirits white as snow. 



THE WEST WIND 

O mild, mild West Wind that hails the even-tide! 
Have you no whispers from my love, no hope for hope 

denied ? 
Whence grasses bend to softest breath, and Hnger 

dew-spilled tears. 
Brought you no whispers from her rest, no smile to 

woo my years ? 

wild, wild West Wind, go screaming through the 

sky! 

1 hear your mocking clamor-voice, your demon- 

throated cry. 
Across the night's uncertain face streams inky black 

your hair. 
Ah, God! that such as this could be! my love — she 

was so fair! 



THE SOUL'S HARKBACK 

Now, from the vantage of man's high estate, 
I long to turn again to humbler things, — 

The vintage of the morn in bowers, where sate 
Freeborn all joys of soul the body sings, — 

Turn back again to where the perfumed leaf 

72 



Falls from the swaying censers of the field, 
And breath of dawn rings flower-bells' relief 
From human hurts no scars have healed. 

In dreams I turn and tarry long and long: 

The purring tiger-mother kittened lies, 
And seems so like embodiment of song 

I lose all fear in spell of her fierce eyes. 
Within her lair the dear first-virtues spring 

That, winged with poesy, enrich and robe 
Each happy pair, and tell the soul to sing 

And love-engarland all the globe. 

I turn from men, from weariness and wrong, 

From cankering care and pride and prickly fret, 
And fain embrace again the woodland song, 

And thus drowse back a step, and so forget, — 
Forget that ever slave was born or bred. 

That ever man by man was ridden down, 
Aye, e'en forget the unforgotten dead 

If babes could know no tear nor frown. 

Perhaps the soul may turn upon high crest 

And beat an ebb-tide dream through ways of past; 
Perchance the goal lies hidden in the breast 

Of some dim day; and heart find hope at last 
By turning back to ancient dawn, when first 

The budding fancy felt the dear, warm breath 
Of waking love, ere creed and crime had curst 

The sons of men with hate and death. 

73 



A VISION OF LIFE 

Mine eyes were glad to look upon my love. 

To touch her cheek enkindled flames in mine, — 

Sweet red flames above 

All thought, save when lovers' arms entwine 

In dreamy gardens where winds whisper low, 

Making soft hours 'mong glad green leaves and 

bloom 
Of subtle colorings, and flow 
Of waters tuned with evening's earliest gloom. 

My heart leapt joyously to kiss the cup 

That was her bosom, carved for this sweet grace, 

This inimitable sup. 

Adown, her spilling beauty, pure as her face. 

Carried my being with it rapturously, 

As slipping sea-waves slide upon the sands. 

All this and more was she to me. 

For she held a world of beauty in her two hands. 

My soul's deep consciousness was eddying dreams 

That lived in the rare beauty of her eyes, 

Now sharp as eagle-screams. 

Now soft as moonHght is just when it dies 

In the heart of a red rose some scant hours blown, — 

Eyes of such quiet laughter as one sees 

In summer meadows, color sown. 

Where lurks ungathered honey for hungry bees. 

And my Desire grew strong upon her lips, 
Feeding on kisses, breathing fragrant sighs, — 

74 



In her glad mouth's ellipse 

Finding joyousness; nor any wise 

Did my desire grow less, where flowers spread 

For kisses moist, and smiling pink leaves cleft 

Asunder when a red heart bled 

For joy at the young god's accustomed theft. 

I saw her blood's increase like ears of corn, — 

Strange fruitage torn when ripe from 'neath her heart. 

How good God was that morn! 

And all the ways of hfe too sweet to part 

With fruit or flower, or glint of sun on leaf. 

Not time, but thoughts outflowing counted years. 

And then gray phantoms of old grief 

Stood out against the sky aflood with tears. 



THE NEGRO 

You are weary, O Brother, my Brother! 

You are tired of your burdens, I know; 
While the high human hopes you must smother. 

Are phantoms that go where you go. 

You have worn your chains like the sainted; 

You were patient with thankless toil, 
And your brave heart never once fainted 

'Neath the lash as you bent to the soil. 

You have suff"ered red sins that are nameless, 
With the meekness of Christ on your face; 

75 



You have fed your indolent, shameless, 
White master with the blood of your race. 

You have given, — ^you are giving unceasing, — 
You are giving what the good God keeps. 

And the gifts of your toil are increasing 
The white man's store while he sleeps. 

You work in the dear world's gardens, 

You grind in its dusty mills; 
And your wage is the coin that hardens 

The heart, — starves it and kills. 

Though the chains that were cruel are broken, 

Yet thy spirit in bondage dwells 
Apart from the world and unspoken, 

Where the tide of its glory swells — 

Aye, dwells apart and unspoken 

And mercilessly thrust aside! 
It is bowed, by God! but unbroken. 

For thy souly it shall not be denied! 



UNITED 

I dream my dreams at scarlet-time 
Of love's lone hour; my flag of soul 

Is free upon the breath of rime, 
As flesh is fond of uncontrol. 

A pinch of snufF, a puff" of smoke 

That kissed the fresh, unravished bowl 

76 



Of meerschaum pipe! my soul awoke 
To its own beauty, brave and whole. 

A conscious breath, a thrill of speed 
And power! my flesh awoke, and won 

Companionship to sup with need, — 
And then my flesh and soul were one. 



DREAMS 

From what dim corners of the brain they come 
I know not. Dreams are folk that ask not leave 
Of you or me. Unwelcome guests are some; 
And others, dear dehghts that spin and weave 
The fabric hope, and play at love and sling 
Bright arrows through a trembHng mark that bleeds, 
Then flit away from lonesome arms that cling 
To clay and crumbling ashes. Life thus leads 
A never-ending chase with dream-desire, 
Until they both are lost 'mid stars of fire. 

And yet maybe the dream-folk live and dream 
Their own delights, and feed some frowning guests 
From sore unwilling hearts, and smile and seem 
To drink the wine of joy from dark behests. 
And still beyond, where fancy's faintest cloud 
Scarce dims the azure dome of dreams, the bird 
Of song may brood her dream-eggs, love endowed 
With fairy notes that happy flowers heard 
Of beauty's many echoes down the breeze, 
A-dance where blossoms foam the green of trees. 

77 



YESTERDAY 

The skies are blue; the ruddy South, 
So loath of change, seems not to care 

If Autumn waits and Winter's mouth 

Whispers white love where limbs are bare. 

Here in the lazy breathing-spell, 

The aftermath of passion's heat, 
She listens as the red leaves tell 

Of the Year's spent love, so honey-sweet. 

She dreams again of his sweet hot breath; 

Her scarlet cheek alone betrays 
Her clinging dream through change and death, 

While dim eyes fade in the purple haze. 

O matron South, with maiden dreams. 
Sing yet thy love's long roundelay. 

Like mine, a song that faintly seems 
The soul of a sacred yesterday! 



DEAD-SEA FRUIT 

He told Love's red-bead rosary many times 

In many lands; and Love had answered all 

The prayers his mad desire had made. His heart 

Was not the sanctuary hearts should be 

When souls seek prayer. His became still less 

The harbor-house of sacredness. It came 

To pass, that as the castle of his breast 

Fell more and more to waste and ruinness, 

78 



The garden of his speech grew richer in 
Sweet buds prophetic of the soul's dear bloom. 
And sickly nature placed the blush of whole 
And hearty joy upon his hollow flesh, — 
A fit and seemly lord of love was he. 

Poor fire flies seek the stars and perish in 

The outer seas where darkness is, and cold 

Of infinite despair, where star-eyes fade. 

Poor moths seek flame and sacrifice their wings 

Of joy on dazzling altar-pyres. What wonder, then, 

That women weep and drown themselves with tears! 

In careless wantonness he held his arms 
Wide open, looked desire upon a dear 
And untried woman's flesh. She gave her soul. 
He took both flesh and soul to wife, yet could 
Not be a husband to her soul. He felt 
The impotence of sentiment, and filled 
With fleshly dreams her need of matedness. 
And hid the serpent, lust, beneath the leaves, — 
The petalled kisses cold, but sweet, — and said, 
"This joy, my dear, this sacred dream is love!" 

But, Hke all love that is not love, the dream 
Must die, — the serpent must be fed, — the leaves 
All fade, and garbage lies where flowers Hved. 

One day in early autumn when the gold 
Of mellow sunlight kissed most dreamily 
Perfected fruit, she decked herself with best 

79 



Of all her jewels, put a rose within 

Her gloomy hair, kissed him, and said, "Good-bye, 

For I may not be back to luncheon, love." 

He muttered: "So be it! I care not when 

She comes!" And yet he watched her fade away 

Far down the street, and thought, "How fair she is. 

How graceful all her lines, how liltingly 

She trips the street where vulgar feet have soiled 

The very stones she treads upon!" He turned 

Upon his world of books and soulless art. 

And then forgot — forgot the blood and soul — 

The rare divinity he'd sworn to love. 

A preacher once in brutal fury spake: 

"The clock of time hangs on the walls of Hell 

And ticks, too late, too late, too late, too late!'* 

With wild, dishevelled hair and hot eyes fixed, 

A mother wailing by a river-brim 

Shrieked out her loss: "Too late! my babe is drowned!" 

A mother-bird sat brooding where her love 
In songful joy had builded downily. 
The leaves all trembled with her thrill of woe 
For her half-orphaned young. 

A mangled corpse was brought 
To one who knew but dreams of coldest art. 
Who nursed a serpent colder still that fed 
On flesh, and charmed away the soul, — grew fat 
On dead love uninterred. Then love awoke, 

80 



And holy dreams bemoaned its loss. He knew 
Too late the sacred worth of woman's love. 

Speak not, O learned philosopher, again 
Of Nature's trust and kindHness! She sows 
The seeds with cruel hand and strikes the buds 
To earth, and laughs to scorn the wounded rights 
Denied of fruit by her all-giving hands. 



DE PO' LI'L' CHIL'UN 

De Win' dey is blowin' mighty col'. 

En de po' li'l' chil'un is shiverin' in bed; 

De las' pone er bread done eat up whol', 
En de chil'un's mammy is col' en dead. 

En de po' li'l' chil'un des cry en cry. 

But I tells 'em fer to hush, er I whup 'em, sho! 
Den dey axes fer dey mammy, by en by. 

But she ain't ercomin' home no mo', no mo'. 

Oh, she's done gone erway, I say, I say, 
She's done laid erway in de groun'; 

En de Win' he growl en snarl en say, 
"Doan yuh heah dat mo'nful soun'?" 

Mister Win', yo's pow'ful bad, I say. 
Toe de po' HT chil'un in de trundle-bed, 

W'en dey mammy's done gone so fur erway, 
En dey po' ol' daddy cain't git no bread. 

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En de Win' des pufF en blow en blow, 

Lack de black ol' Satan projectin' eroun'; 

En de po' li'r chil'un is freezin', sho! 

En dey mammy gone ersleep in de hard col' groun'. 

Oh, she's done gone erway, I say, I say, 

She's done laid erway in de groun'; 
En de Win' he growl en snarl en say, 

"Doan yuh heah dat mo'nful soun'?" 

But the wind went down at the break of day. 
And the snow at dawn lay deep and white; 

And the dead babes there with their father lay 
In the keep and dreams of the night. 



LEAVIN' GEORGY 

I'm a-leavin' of ol' Georgy, 

Whar the climbin' muscadine 
Tears to have its arms aroun' me 

Like an ol' sweetheart o' mine. 
An' the ol' train keeps a-pullin'. 

While my heart is holdin' fast 
To the dearest of all Hvin' things 

That life has yanked me past. 

I'm a-leavin' of ol' Georgy, 

Whar the tend'rest green things grow, 
Coddlin' like an' climbin' clostest 

To the warm red hills I know. 

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An' the ol' train keeps a-jerkin', 
An' my heart keeps yankin' back 

Till it seems my soul is spillin' 
Of its Hfe-blood down the track. 

Fm a-leavin' of ol' Georgy, 

Whar the mockin'-birds an' trees 
Is the truest frien's of fellers 

That a feller ever sees; 
Whar the spears er grass is lovin' 

An' the blushin' roses flirt 
With the meek an' droopin' lilies 

That have flounced the marshes' skirt. 

I'm a-leavin' of ol' Georgy, 

An' I hate it av^^ful bad, 
Fer my dead dreams thar is sleepin' 

In the'r home that's still an' sad, — 
In the Httle cabin peepin' 

Through the trees an' muscadines 
Whar the breezes sigh so lonesome 

When the stars of midnight shines. 

I'm a-leavin' of ol' Georgy, 

But I hain't got fur to go 
Fer to find that I'm a-leavin' 

Of the dearest things I know. 
Yet the ol' train keeps a-jerkin'. 

An' my heart keeps yankin' back 
Till between them they're a-spiUin' 

Of my Hfe-blood down the track. 

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COIN' BACK TO GEORGY 

I'm a-goin' back to Georgy, 

Whar the sweet pertaters grow, 
An' the mockin'-birds is singin' 

To the dear warm hills I know, 
Whar the melons stretch the'r bellies 

With the sweet juice of the dew, 
An' the grape-vines' clustered laughter 

Fill an' thrill me through an' through. 

I'm a-goin' back to Georgy, 

Fer to see that gal o' mine, 
An' to bathe me in the sunshine. 

An' to pick the muscadine. 
An' to spen' the year a-singin' 

An' a-lovin' of my dear, 
Whar the berries burst a-drippin' 

Of a juicy kind o' cheer. 

I'm a-goin' back to Georgy, 

Fer I've seen my frien's at Cleves 
(Oh, the nearest an' the dearest 

That a feller ever leaves!) 
An' my ol' heart chugs my win'-pipe 

An' my eyes is swimmin' tears. 
While I clutch the hope to kiss 'em 

Once ag'in in smiHn' years. 

I'm a-goin' back to Georgy, 
An' my ol' heart aches anew, 

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Fer I'm leavin' of the Coopers, 

An' I love 'em so — I do — 
That it seems my soul is splittin' 

As the ol' train pulls away, 
An' my tremblin' hope is yearnin' 

Fer the'r kiss ag'in — some day! 

I'm a-goin' back to Georgy, 

An' you'd reckon by my tears 
I'm a weaklin'-like an' fooHsh 

In regards to dreads an' fears; 
But I've seen so much of partin'. 

An' I've knowed so much of tears, 
That I can't help of my feelin's 

Of the heartlessness of years. 

THE CROSS 

Far down through mists of time and on the tide 
That never turns, a spar with spikes of pain 
Is kissed by billowed years and borne along. 
The stains of tears are on it, virgins' blood 
And much unholy crime which never wave 
With ceaseless kiss nor floods may wash away. 

The cross, a strangely simple image, tells 
Of love and lust. It points, as God might with 
His finger on the deeds of flesh and soul. 
To meanings rich with purple, red with pain 
Of many Christs. It was the first uplift 
That told the mystic tale, now old as love. 

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WHEN DAY DROOPS 

The big red sun is setting, 
The purple mist hangs low, — 

The time of sweet forgetting. 
For love will have it so. 

Whate'er the day was dreaming, 

Whate'er is left undone, 
Fades now as fancy's seeming, 

And sinks with set of sun. 

The gray now drooping lowly 
Along the far land's edge 

Enshrouds the world as slowly 
As mists enfold the hedge. 

The brooding twihght falling 

Calls home the dreams we know, 

Of joys past all recalling. 
Since sunset wills it so. 



THE TRULY FREE 

The truly free are those unknown to fame, — 
The careless souls who walk the ways of light, 
Thrice blessed with hope that hails the clearer sight,- 
Content without the happy hosts' acclaim, — 
The modest minstrels of the world who came 
Unbidden guests, to woo and win delight 
From simpler ways between the shores of night. 

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Nor thought to write on shifting sands — a name. 
And so I open wide my arms to those 

Dear smiHng wights of earth, who clearly see 
In beauty's being cause that blooms the rose, — 

Embodied souls of song through ways that be 
All-wise, because so meek that no man knows 

Their holy tears, nor yet how truly free. 



LOVE'S LARGESS 

From out fair moments of suppressed delight, 
When joys, unburdened by a doubt, proclaim 
A newer waking, comes a whispered name 
As soft as even-shades subdued with light. 
Beyond the clasp of touch or kiss of sight 
Anon a dear face, mated with the name. 
Consoles the spirit as a smile of fame 
Broke in upon some dateless waste of night. 
So from a love supremely full there be 
Great largess, — subtle gifts of hope that are 
More sacred than mere hollow fantasy, 
Too sane to be mirages dim and fair; 
And it were sweet of soul, it seems to me. 
To hold them true and fixed as any star. 



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